Ir is one bright characteristic of the Christian religion, that its reception makes men better than it found them, whatever may have been their previous condition. While it dissipates the dark clouds of error so often thrown around human philosophy, and exalts the highest views of natural reason, it also stoops to enlighten and cheer the tenant of the lowliest cot. It is too late to say that it is the only religion which is adapted to people of all situations, even the most humble; and that it is the star of Bethlehem alone that so often soothes and directs those whose condition would otherwise be truly comfortless. There is much instruction to be acquired by seeing the effects of pure religion in the lower walks of life;-for it is there that you find her in her loveliest garb, without any of the fanciful trappings of the fashionable world. The truth of the last remark may perhaps be more clearly illustrated by the following incident, which, though it may contain nothing marvellous, is neverthe less a simple fact.

2

RELIGION IN THE COTTAGE.

Several years since, while riding in the interior of Connecticut, I was one day unexpectedly caught in a tremendous thunder-storm, far, as I feared, from any shelter. The rain was falling in torrents, and those "groaning travellers of the skythe lightning that glares, and the thunder that rends," shook the very ground, and died away in echoes through the surrounding woods, that often startled me. In this dreary condition I unexpectedly arrived at a small thatched hovel, that seemed to promise but a poor retreat from the pitiless storm now raging in its violence. Curiosity as well as the rain urged me to ask its hospitality. Little ceremony seemed either to be expected or wished at such a time: and in a few moments I was snugly seated beside a good fire, kindled with small sticks, which lay in bundles around the hearth. The only inhabitants of this little mansion seemed to be a neat modest young woman and her son, a little white-headed boy, who kept near her, as if afraid of strangers. The cottage contained but one room, which was furnished with a bed, a table, a few crazy chairs, and a small book-shelf, containing a very few books, among which I noticed a small Bible. The rain was pouring into this dwelling from almost every quarter, as it was too ill-covered to keep out the storm. The only light we had came in through the crevices of the roof and sides, for there was no window in the building. I looked around with surprise to see a woman so cheerful and composed, while deprived of so many of the necessaries of life. I inquired if she was contented to live in such a situation, and if she was not dejected with her condition; turning my eyes at the same time to a stream of water pouring in from the roof. "I might be discontented, sir," she replied, as she placed a large can to catch the water,-"I might be discontented with this life, were I not fully convinced that my lot is far happier than I deserve, and will one day be exchanged for a better-I mean in heaven!" There was a resignation in her countenance that surprised me. She wiped her eye with a corner of her clean apron, and at my request gave me a brief history of her life. She had married while young, with bright prospects of happiness. But she was disappointed in the companion of her life. Her husband soon threw off his assumed mask, and showed himself almost destitute of humanity He drank to excess, and lost his little property at the gaming-table, among companions as worthless as himself. Often would he return home late at night, drunken and cross, to abuse his poor wife, whose only comfort, while waiting for his return, was to weep over her little boy as he lay slumbering, unconscious of her grief. Afflictions always make us either better or worse. Upon

RELIGION IN THE COTTAGE

her they had a happy effect; they drove her to the Bible, and taught her that, amid all her trials, there was a Fountain of hope which would never fail-a Friend to the wretched who never forsakes. She thus learned how truly this life is a pilgrimage, how few are our earthly joys; and she placed her heart, her hopes, and her anticipations in heaven, and was comforted. With cheerfulness and serenity she now endured all the hard treatment of her husband, and no longer repined at her lot. She even informed me, that when alone with her little boy, while the raging winds threatened to crush her humble cottage, she had enjoyed seasons of communion with the Father of spirits, which more than compensated for all her loss. On being asked if she could earnestly pray for the salvation of her husband, she replied,—“ While there is life, I can pray and hope; and often with tears and an anguished heart do I kneel for my poor husband, while he is ruining himself at places which a wife cannot mention."

After a long conversation with this interesting woman, as the rain subsided, I left her, exhorting her to patience and faithfulness, not knowing that I should ever again be permitted to see her on the shores of mortality; and wondering not a little at the various though necessary means which God employs to train his children up for immortality.

During the several years succeeding this visit at the cottage, amidst my numerous avocations, I had almost forgotten the contented though leaky little hovel which protected me from the storm; and perhaps I should never again have recalled all the circumstances of the visit, had I never again passed the same road. But in the middle of the last summer, business called me to travel near the same spot.

It was on a still moonlight evening in July that I ascended the small hillock that again presented the little cottage to view. It stands at the foot of a wild but charming mountain. I stopped my horse, and in a few moments memory had placed before me every detail of my first visit. There were many interesting associations which my situation naturally suggested; and the scenery too was more than delightful. On the right, the rug-ged mountain reared its everlasting butments of stone, and defied all the blasts and gnawings of time. On the left, just through a narrow copse of woods the spreading lawn sloped as far as the bright moon would enable the eye to range; while the wild bounding stream, as it dashed along the side of the mountain, seemed to break the stillness, that would otherwise have been complete. Indeed, so calm andsilent was all around, and so quietly slept every leaf of the forest, that one was almost

6

TWO SCENES IN VIRGINIA.

Cwo Scenes in Airginia.

Nature outvies the petty works of man,
The Pyramids themselves, compared to Alps
And Andes, are but mole-hills, and these rocks.
And craggy steeps shame in their rugged power
Man's laboured piles of castle, tower, and fane,
Of bridge of mighty span, or pendulous chains,
That braves the abyss, and weds dissevered climes.
ANON.

ON a lovely morning, toward the close of Spring, I found myself in a very beautiful part of the Great Valley of Virginia. Spurred on by impatience, I beheld the sun rising in splendour and changing the blue tints on the tops of the lofty Alleghany mountains into streaks of purest gold, and nature seemed to smile in the freshness of beauty. A ride of about fifteen miles, and a pleasant woodland ramble of about two, brought myself and my companion to the great NATURAL BRIDGE.

Although I had been anxiously looking forward to this time, and my mind had been considerably excited by expectation, yet I was not altogether prepared for this visit. This great work of nature is considered by many as the second great curiosity in in our country, Niagara Falls being the first. I do not expect to convey a very correct idea of this bridge, for no description can do this.

The Natural Bridge is entirely the work of God. It is of solid limestone, and connects two huge mountains together by a most beautiful arch, over which there is a great waggon road. Its length from one mountain to the other is nearly eighty feet, its width about thirty-five, its thickness forty-five, and its perpendicular height above the water is not far from two hundred and twenty feet. A few bushes grow on its top, by which the traveller may hold himself as he looks over. On each side of the stream, and near the bridge, are rocks projecting ten or fifteen feet over the water, and from two hundred to three hundred feet from its surface, all of limestone. The visitor cannot give so good a description of the bridge as he can of his feelings at the time. He softly creeps out on a shaggy projecting rock, and, looking down a chasm from forty to sixty feet wide, he sees, nearly three hundred feet below, a wild stream foaming and dashing against the rocks beneath, as if terrified at the rocks above. This stream is called Cedar Creek. He sees,

TWO SCENES IN VIRGINIA.

under the arch, trees whose height is seventy feet; and yet, as he looks down upon them, they appear like small bushes of perhaps two or three feet in height. I saw several birds fly under the arch, and they looked like insects. I threw down a stone, and counted thirty-four before it reached the water. All hear of heights and of depths, but they here see what is high, and they tremble and feel it to be deep. The awful rocks present their everlasting butments, the water murmurs and foams far below, and the two mountains rear their proud heads on each side, separated by a channel of sublimity. Those who view the sun, the moon, and the stars, and allow that none but God could make them, will here be impressed that none but an Almighty God could build a bridge like this.

The view of the bridge from below is as pleasing as the top view is awful-the arch from beneath would seem to be about two feet in thickness. Some idea of the distance from the top to the bottom may be formed from the fact that, as I stood on the bridge and my companion beneath, neither of us could speak sufficiently loud to be heard by the other. A man from either view does not appear more than four or five inches in height.

As we stood under this beautiful arch, we saw the place where visitors have often taken the pains to engrave their names upon the rock. Here Washington climbed up twentyfive feet and carved his own name, where it still remains. Some, wishing to immortalise their names, have engraven them deep and large, while others have tried to climb up and insert them high in this book of fame.

A few years since, a young man, being ambitious to place his name above all others, came very near losing his life in the attempt. After much fatigue he climbed up as high as possible, but found that the person who had before occupied his place was taller than himself, and consequently had placed his name above his reach. But he was not thus to be discouraged. He opened a large jack-knife, and, in the soft limestone, began to cut places for his hands and feet. With much patience and industry he worked his way upwards, and succeeded in carving his name higher than the most ambitious had done before him. He could now triumph, but his triumph was short, for he was placed in such a situation that it was impossible to descend, unless he fell upon the ragged rocks beneath him. There was no house near, from whence his companions could get assistance. He could not long remain in that condition, and, what was worse, his friends were too much frightened to do any thing for his relief. They looked on him as already dead, expecting